


Letters and Strange Tidings

by rosered00



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geraskier, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mild Language, Mpreg, Multi, Polyamory, The Witcher - Freeform, geraskier mpreg, kind of, netflix' the witcher, pregnant jaskier, sfw, yenn and geralt are a thing and jaskier and geralt are a thing but it's still being worked out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22323493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosered00/pseuds/rosered00
Summary: After that brutal blow-off post dragon hunt, Jaskier finds himself in a predicament with a capital P. Yennefer helps, and Geralt is an ass.Operates under the assumption that Jaskier and Geralt were doing the do before the dragon hunt, and that Jaskier is hurt a lot more by Geralt's rejection than his sleeping with Yennefer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 1027





	Letters and Strange Tidings

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know Geralt accepts all of this rather readily for someone who avoided a child of surprise for a decade. Let a girl dream. 
> 
> pssst, follow me on tumblr @whoevenknowsit, where I'm the same old idiot under a slightly different theme.

“What’s wrong with him?”

The words were falling out of Geralt’s mouth practically before he had finished crossing the threshold of the townhouse Yennefer was currently occupying. He doubted she was doing anything so mundane as paying rent for it, but she’d been staying there for several months if the letter she had sent him was at all truthful.

She was waiting for him in the foyer, as he’d known she would be. He had sensed her presence there even before he had opened the door, felt the edge of the anxiety in it sliding against his own. That was curious. Yennefer was many things, but an anxious woman was usually not among them.

“After all this time, and that’s the greeting I get?” The swish of Yennefer’s skirts as she approached him played softly in Geralt’s sensitive ears. As did the creaking of the floorboards above his head, where it sounded as though the house’s other tenant was shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Geralt’s patience, never known for its quantity and already worn thin from weeks of worry and hard riding, snapped. “Leave the bullshit in the farmyard and tell me what’s going on, Yennefer.”

The dangerous tone of his voice would have moved anyone else to leap to the command, even without the influence of a sign. Yennefer, however, held her ground.

“I strongly suggest you cultivate a civil tongue, if not while speaking to me then at least before you speak to Jaskier,” she spat, her own temper flaring.

That was curious, too. Geralt had never known her to like the bard, let alone defend him.

An answering snarl rose in Geralt’s throat before he could stop it. “Then in return I suggest you elaborate on your letter because ‘Jaskier’s been cursed so he’s staying with me and I think you should come to see him,’ is a bush I don’t feel like beating around.”

“Paraphrasing and metaphor simply do not suit you, Geralt. Neither does caring so visibly.”

He glowered, and she raised her hands in an uncharacteristically vulnerable gesture. Truly, something odd was at work here if Yennefer was allowing her anger to bank down so quickly.

“Fine,” she said, her tone softer again. “I’ll tell you what’s mine to say, though it really isn’t much, and the rest you can take up with him.”

“Jaskier came to me a few months ago,” Yennefer began, leading Geralt into a sitting room and settling into a deeply padded armchair. The witcher remained standing, leaning against a carved wall. “He wasn’t well. Nausea, lack of appetite. Strange aches and pains of a... sensitive nature. Something else, as well, but you’ll have to hear that from him.”

“He chose to come here of his own free will?” The question was gruff, but genuine. Its unspoken counterpart was clear.

Yennefer rolled her violet eyes. “Please, Geralt. What use would I have to waste my magic on ensnaring your poet?”

“Far be it from me to pretend to know the lady’s wishes.”

“Enough,” said Yennefer. “He came to me when he heard I was in town, presumably because the competence of the healer here implies that he was dropped on his head as a baby. Repeatedly. How this entire town hasn’t died of plague is beyond me.”

Geralt gestured for her to return to the point.

“As I was saying, he was in a- well, not so much a bad way as a strange one. After some preliminary examinations, I discovered what was ailing him, as well as the lingering effects of magic woven into his very flesh. Truly a wonderful spell, of singular subtlety and effectiveness. I am entirely serious when I say that I have never seen nor heard of a spell such as this one. I can assure you that I would have contacted you had I ever managed to do so.”

“And the illness? What did the curse do?”

“Ah.” Yennefer leaned further back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “And that’s where the lines of what I am and am not willing to disclose begin to blur. Suffice it to say the spell caused unexpected internal tissue growth. Nothing immediately obvious, but significant.”

“Dammit, Yen,” growled Geralt. “Is it something you can reverse or not?”

“I think I could,” she answered slowly, not meeting his eyes, “but I think you’ll see shortly why that would be a poor idea.”

She rose, smoothing the folds of her dress before waving a hand toward a set of stairs. “The rest of your answers you can wrestle out of Jaskier.”

It was with halting steps that Geralt climbed that flight. The last words he had spoken to Jaskier had been ill-conceived, ill-aimed, and ill-met. Truth be told, their parting moments were something that the witcher had regretted almost from the time they had happened. He had thought many times of returning to apologize to the bard but had always decided against it in the end. Jaskier had more than enough connections to find Geralt on his own, should he be so willing, and Geralt had decided that perhaps if he hadn’t reached out to him it was because Jaskier had no wish to be reunited.

As the months had rolled by and no such summons had come, Geralt had tried to bring himself to terms with the fact that their relationship seemed to have cycled from acquaintances to friends to lovers and back to acquaintances far too quickly. He tried, he told himself, it wasn’t his fault that he always fell short of succeeding.

Yennefer didn’t have to tell Geralt in which chamber he could find Jaskier. He could find it perfectly well on his own, following the other man’s scent and the familiar beat of his heart and whoosh of his lungs. There were other noises, too. Not the usual background noise he was used to filtering through when tracking a particular sound, but small, soft whisperings of sound that he couldn’t easily identify.

“What a surprise, Geralt,” Jaskier said as the witcher allowed the heavy oak door to slip shut behind him. The room was comfortably appointed, with a large bed in one corner and a stone hearth in the other.

“Yennefer didn’t tell you she’d written me?”

“Oh, she told me she’d sent a letter, not that I wanted her to. Just didn’t think you’d care enough to actually respond to her summons.”

Jaskier was seated in a chair even more luxurious than those downstairs, though he didn’t look at all comfortable in it. Rather, he was sitting on the edge, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his folded hands. His lovely eyes were closed and his expression was pinched, like he was deep in thought, or pain, or perhaps both. An open chamber pot sat on a table beside the chair, which was an unconventional place to say the least.

Immediately Geralt noticed that Jaskier hadn’t been sleeping well. There were bags under his eyes, and his skin had taken on a paler tone. He wasn’t eating enough either, if the slightly more hollow cheeks he was sporting were anything to judge by.

All these months away, and Jaskier had clearly been suffering in his absence.

“Jaskier, look, I’m sor-”

“No Geralt,” Jaskier interrupted, opening his eyes and fixing the witcher with a hard stare, “you look. You made your opinions of my company clear. I asked Yennefer not to involve you in this, but here we are.”

An awkward silence settled over the pair, only breaking when Jaskier sighed theatrically and rubbed at his face.

“Look,” he said again. “I don’t know if Yennefer told you I was dying so you would come to see me or something of that ilk, but now you’ve come, you’ve seen, and now I would greatly appreciate it if you would be on your way. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Jaskier, you’re sick.” Geralt’s tone was much gentler than usual, but his words still visibly upset Jaskier.

“I am not, and quite frankly I find myself thinking that my health is my business alone. Now kindly do me the favour of leaving.”

It wasn’t easy to pretend that this greeting didn’t sting, even if he could admit to himself that his acquaintance had every right to say what he had.

He was about to turn on his heel and honour Jaskier’s wish when he realized something. Geralt had heard of the expression of being sick with regret, so perhaps Jaskier was merely already feeling the effects of having just pushed him away, but he looked almost as though he was ready to vomit.

And then he did vomit, pulling the chamber pot onto his lap and releasing a sickening stream of half-digested food and stomach acids into it.

Geralt couldn’t help himself. He knelt beside the chair Jaskier was seated in, rubbing his palm between his shoulder blades as he retched again. The stench of the emesis hit him quickly, and he wrinkled his nose.

When nothing else was forthcoming, Jaskier put the chamber pot on the floor and blessedly replaced the lid.

“I thought I asked you to leave, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice a touch weaker than before.

“And I would, Jaskier, if that’s what you want. But you’re not well. Tell me about this curse. It’s making you ill.”

“Ha!” Geralt had never heard a more mirthless laugh. “That little display isn’t a direct result of that. More of a by-product of a by-product of the curse. Although that particular symptom has held on longer than our household mage told me to expect it to.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and the heartfelt tone of his voice caught both of them off guard. “Tell me what’s going on. Symptoms? Of what? I know you’re a bard, but I beg you not to speak in tongues right now.”

There was another, longer, silence while Jaskier let his eyes slide shut again. Then he sighed again, and sat fully back into his chair before resting his hands against his middle and simply saying “Symptoms of this, Geralt.”

For a lengthy moment, the witcher was left puzzled. Jaskier’s stomach looked bloated, rounding out in front of him. His previous bent position had concealed it, but now that Jaskier had reclined a bit it was hard to believe he hadn’t noticed it before. His clothes appeared to have been let out to allow for this new feature, though they were as form-fitting as they had ever been.

Still the gears of Geralt’s mind struggled to mesh their teeth and work together. Yennefer had said the tissue growth hadn’t been noticeable, Jaskier had claimed he wasn’t sick, and yet here he was, vomiting and now clutching a distended abdomen.

If he had been a woman, Geralt would have thought-

_Oh_.

Now that the gears had clicked, they whirled almost faster than Geralt could follow. Yennefer’s interest in what the curse had done, and in keeping Jaskier around. The symptom of vomiting that had apparently been present too long. Jaskier’s known reputation for _performing in both courts_ as he had once put it.

The spell had given Jaskier a womb, and the poor bastard had unknowingly filled it.

“You’re... pregnant?”

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier responded without opening his eyes, “I do believe you just indebted me to my gracious host, beyond what I already was.”

“What?”

An eye slid open reluctantly and met Geralt’s own. “I put my monetary faith in you figuring it out very quickly. Yennefer thought you’d be struck dumb. Should have known better than to question her authority on your stupidity. You’ve cost me ten crowns.”

Geralt just raised an eyebrow at that.

“Now what?” Jaskier asked plainly. “Now you’ve seen what’s wrong with me, you going to add ‘gravid man’ to the list of monsters you’ve met and be on your way again?”

“No.” It was an odd sensation, to feel as though someone else had spoken with his mouth. Geralt certainly didn’t remember even thinking about his response, let alone saying it.

Both of Jaskier’s eyes were open now, holding his own. “Isn’t that what you want, though? You only came back because you thought you had to right your wrongs before I died or something. I’m not dying, so now you’ll rid yourself of me again.”

Geralt suspected he didn't need the ears of a witcher to hear the hurt in Jaskier’s voice.

It was Geralt’s experience that every situation has a pivotal moment. In battle, placing a toe out of line in that moment could be the difference between life and death. The same senses that kept him alive at times like those told him that he ought to tread carefully here. He had already carelessly damaged his relationship with Jaskier once. A misplaced word here could dash any of his hopes of healing those wounds.

“You’ve no reason to believe me, I know,” said Geralt as he straightened. His legs were beginning to ache from kneeling. He grabbed a vacant chair from the corner of the room, dragging it into position so that he could sit across from Jaskier. “But I wanted to find you, after… After what I said on the mountain.”

Another lengthy pause. Jaskier drummed his fingers on his belly impatiently and cocked his head to the side. Geralt, sensing his intention to speak, jumped in again before he could begin.

“No, that’s not all I intend to say. It’s just- you know I’m not good at this. Talking about important things. Talking about things in general.”

“I believe I shall take a page from your script and answer that with a simple ‘hmm’,” Jaskier said, a tiny bit of the usual warmth returning to his voice.

“Jaskier please, I’m bad enough at this that I’ll ask you not to interrupt until I’ve said my piece.” Geralt cracked his knuckles as he spoke, an old nervous gesture. “Let me get this out.”

Jaskier hesitated a moment, then nodded slowly.

“I was wrong,” continued Geralt. “I was angry at myself for hurting Yennefer, and I only made it worse by hurting you as well. I stayed away because I thought you would want me to after that. When you didn’t come find me, I took it as confirmation that I was right. I see now that you were too busy to follow.”

Geralt only needed a moment to wonder at Jaskier’s incredulous expression before he realized the error he had made. He opened his mouth to clarify himself, but the bard’s biting words chased his explanation right back down his throat.

“Right, let’s poke fun at Jaskier the strumpet,” he said, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “Jaskier who fucked himself into a corner, sleeping around trying to forget _you_.”

His anger was palpable, permeating the air. Geralt attempted to speak once more, only to be cut off again as Jaskier held up a finger, wagging it in his face as he continued. “Now, Geralt, you asked for silence while you spoke, I’d ask that you return the favor. Actually, I demand it.”

Geralt had never had such a difficult time holding his tongue, but he managed. Jaskier, seeming to accept his lack of an answer as agreement to his term, went on.

“Yes, I talked my way into pairs of trousers and took what solace I could out of that. Which wasn’t much, might I add, because while I am a man of many talents, it appears that getting over you was not among them. No one held up to you.” That last sentence was spoken haltingly, bitterly, as though it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“It just so happens that I must be destiny’s cruel joke,” Jaskier continued, “because one of the men I bedded had a wife with a rather poor sense of timing. I knew he was taken, truth be told, but I liked that. Made me think of you. The role of the side affair to the main attraction has become quite comfortable to me now, thanks to you and Yennefer.”

Geralt flinched almost imperceptibly, but Jaskier plowed forward, heedless of his reaction.

“This wife was a touch unhappy to come home from the market early with her children and find her husband screwing me senseless in their kitchen,” he said. “Chased me out, the usual. But I get the sense that I was the most recent in a long series of one-offs her husband had been caught with. She was shrieking like a banshee the entire time about how if he was going to keep fucking me then he could damn well turn to me the next time he wanted a child. I don’t know if she had magic or if she struck a bargain with someone who did, but it seems she was upset enough to put her words into action.”

Jaskier allowed himself to slide a little further down in his chair, letting his eyes slip shut again and crossing his arms beneath his chest. “Didn’t think much of it at the time. Didn’t notice anything different, aside from a bit of a stomachache. Didn’t fuck him again either. He’d been rather average, anyway. Both in looks and in bed.”

“The next man, the one behind my condition,” he said, keeping his eyes closed, “was abso-bloody-lutely anything but average. Hot as open flame and a dream between the sheets, when we bothered to use those. Would think I did dream him if I didn’t have substantial evidence to the contrary.”

It was impossible for Geralt to miss the way one of Jaskier’s hands came to rest on his stomach as he said that. He wasn’t entirely sure Jaskier was even conscious of having done it.

“He was a good tumble, even if he still wasn’t you.” Jaskier’s lashes fluttered a little, like he was struggling with the thought of looking at Geralt. He did, after a moment. “I stayed with him until I began to fall sick every day. Until some of my favourite foods turned repulsive and my head swam every time I stood. Stayed all the way ‘til my belly began to swell. That scared me.”

He was telling the truth- Geralt could hear the memory of the fear in his words. And why shouldn’t he have been? He’d been abandoned, and then struck by a seemingly sudden and inexplicable illness. The thought weighed heavy in Geralt’s heart, and he gave himself another mental kick for the errors in his judgment that had led to his former lover’s predicament.

Jaskier went on, oblivious to the ache in Geralt’s chest. “Of course I didn’t know what was going on, even as clear as it seems now. I’m a man, for shit’s sake, I’m not going to get a little fat and start puking and leap to the conclusion that I’m with child. When Yennefer came to that answer, I decided to cut it off with Benhavir. I couldn’t go back to him with the news. He’d have turned me away like a freak. I might have too, in his position.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier sat forward again, shifting in evident discomfort and brushing away the stubborn tuft of hair that had fallen in his eyes. “And, again, here we are. You’re all caught up.”

“I’m not though, am I?” Again, Geralt was unsure of where this response had come from. “I missed so much, wandering around while this was happening to you.”

Something shifted in Jaskier’s eyes. “Yes, I suppose you did. Though I wondered often how you wandered effectively with your head so far up your ass.” A slight hesitation, a glance away, and then, “You meant it? That you don’t intend to leave?”

“I did. I still do.”

Jaskier stared a moment longer, calculating. “I’m tired, Geralt,” he said suddenly. He stood, slowly and using his arms for leverage as though his back hurt. “I’m tired of sitting in this chair- my stomach puts too much strain on my spine in it- and I’m tired of pretending I want to keep you at arms’ distance.”

Geralt’s heart, usually so slow and controlled, sped up the tiniest bit.

Jaskier jerked his head, indicating the bed. “If you’re serious about staying, stay with me now.”

“Of course.”

Geralt had walked into this house expecting dire news at the best, and to receive news of his Jaskier’s death at the worst. The whiplash-like sensation of wondering how he came to be pressed up against his back with his nose buried in those soft brown locks once more was something he was willing to suffer, if only it meant he could do this again. And preferably never stop.

“Oh put your stupidly big arms around me, Geralt,” Jaskier groaned. “I’m not made of glass, and I certainly haven’t waited this long to be slept beside like we’re chaperoned youths.”

Geralt didn’t bother answering, just wrapped one arm around Jaskier’s waist, enjoying the way he relaxed into the touch. Truly, he knew that he didn’t deserve someone who could forgive him so easily after being wounded so deeply. But if other people could wander into unjust good fortune, perhaps even a witcher could manage to do the same once in a while.

One last thing nagged at the back of Geralt’s mind.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?” The response was sleepy, like he’d been wrenched back from the edge of consciousness. Jaskier truly had been tired, it seemed.

“I said I would stay,” he began carefully, eager to avoid any further misunderstandings. “But you have to know that I can’t just take up another job. I’ll still have to go hunting monsters, still have to inspire people to continue tossing coins in my direction.”

“I know… just promise that you’ll keep coming back.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said again, more fervently. “You’ve done more for me than almost anyone else, and at a time when most other humans wouldn’t look my way, much less write ballads about me. But you, I couldn’t shake you. It took me far too long to realize that I didn’t want to.”

He could feel Jaskier twist his head in an attempt to catch Geralt’s eyes, but he averted them. Speaking his feelings wasn’t his strong point, and suddenly meeting that bewitching gaze was an impossible task.

“I may learn slowly,” he continued, “but I do learn, and I’ll be damned if I’m making the mistake of leaving you again. For extended periods, I mean.”

“I knew what you meant, dolt.”

Geralt moved to re-position his arm like he had so many times before, surprising himself when his hand came to rest upon the curve of Jaskier’s stomach. He jerked his hand back a little bit before he caught himself and replaced it, hoping Jaskier hadn’t noticed.

“S’alright,” murmured Jaskier. “It takes getting used to. I only came around to touching it a couple months back. Didn’t feel like a part of me at first.”

Jaskier was quiet then, long enough that Geralt thought he had fallen asleep. Then he spoke up again.

“I love them, you know. I didn’t know if I would, in the beginning. It never really crossed my mind to… end it, but I was so unsure.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “You can’t know what it’s like. Not because of the whole ‘no emotions’ thing, I know that’s bollocks, but because I can’t even begin to put it into words. Me, having no words, can you imagine that?”

“It only happens in my dreams.” Geralt flinched almost before he finished speaking, but to his surprise- and relief- Jaskier laughed.

“I’ve missed you, Geralt.”

*****

Yennefer had been listening. Geralt had suspected that she would do something of that kind, but his suspicions were confirmed when she entered the room as soon as Jaskier had drifted into a deep sleep.

“I trust you boys have finished sucking each other’s faces off?” She spoke softly and closed the door in as quiet a fashion as possible, with barely a click as the latch closed.

“You know we did nothing of the sort, or your spells of spying have gone to shit in my absence.” Geralt’s own voice was little more than a whisper. Jaskier hadn’t stirred so far, and Geralt didn’t intend to change that.

Yennefer stood by the door for a moment, like she was rather unsure of what to do with herself. Odd, Geralt thought, for someone who was usually so forward. She approached the bed then, carefully, and sat down on its edge.

“He’s sleeping better tonight, you know,” Yennefer said, glancing at Geralt. “Or you would, if you had seen him before.”

Geralt wasn’t sure how to answer that. It seemed to him that he had used up all of his heartfelt speech for the day. Instead, he let the seconds of silence run into minutes, in which Yennefer simply regarded the two men. Geralt allowed her, saying nothing as she watched the rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest. Then, very deliberately, she placed her right hand on the side of his face, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone.

Jaskier’s lip twitched in response, but other than that he seemed undisturbed. Geralt breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he had been holding, before stopping short.

“You’re not just keeping him here to study the curse, are you?”

Yennefer remained silent, but she slid her legs onto the bed. She laid her head down on the pillow next to Jaskier’s, her black tresses mixing messily with his brown. She left her hand on his cheek, something Geralt was beginning to think had become a familiar gesture to the two of them.

“Admit it, Yenn.” Geralt could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You like having him around. You’re resistant to magic, but Jaskier has rather unconventional charms, doesn’t he?”

“I’m doing it for this.” Yennefer’s hand left Jaskier’s cheek, alighting on the side of his stomach and rubbing a soothing circle into the taut flesh. “Or at least that’s what I told myself in the beginning.”

“And now? You certainly seem more… relaxed with him these days.”

“He was lonely, Geralt, and heartbroken. And scared.” Yennefer shot him a glance over Jaskier’s head, one that was by no means gentle. “You weren’t here, and he was so persistent and needy that I was afraid if I didn’t give in I’d wake one night to find he’d let himself in to curl up next to me.”

“Of course I still want to be around the baby, when they’re born. But I do… enjoy Jaskier’s company more than I once did. It turns out having your spirits smashed by the same man can be quite the bonding experience.” This time the look she gave Geralt was nothing short of a glare.

“Yenn, I-”

“Oh, save it,” she huffed. “I know that constipated heart of yours can only do so much of this in one night, and I wasn’t the one who needed it the most.”

In lieu of an answer, since, as Yennefer had predicted, those were eluding him at the moment, Geralt just placed his hand on top of hers where it still rested on Jaskier’s belly.

“Geralt,” Yennefer said after a moment, “can you hear them? The baby, I mean.”

“Yes.” It had taken him a while to realize that. Once Jaskier was drifting off in his arms, he’d had a chance to ponder the strange sounds that had been bothering him since they had been reunited. A soft swish of a small limb through liquid here, the thrumming of a heartbeat as fast as a sparrow’s wings there.

“Tell me what they sound like?”

He did, in as much detail as he could.

It was only with the greatest difficulty that Jaskier, who had truthfully been awake for several minutes, kept the smile off of his face lest it ruin the illusion of sleep.


End file.
